Title: When the Past Resurfaces: A Reunion That Wasn’t

By Debbie Moore-Black, RN

For many of us, friendships from childhood leave a lasting imprint. They’re created in simplicity, built on mutual experiences, and frequently become the emotional groundwork upon which we evolve. But what transpires when those very bonds reappear decades later—devoid of nostalgia, tainted by unresolved pain, and shrouded in polite, awkward silence?

That was my experience on an otherwise ordinary day at my primary care physician’s office. I was in the process of checking in for my yearly physical when the past strolled in beside me, clad in snug designer trousers and shimmering diamonds.

It was Denise—my best friend from childhood.

The Burden of History

Denise and I navigated our youth side by side. From splashing in the neighborhood pool to sharing secrets during sleepovers, she was not just a friend—she was my haven. Her household was comforting, secure, and filled with soft voices, while mine was a tempest I never knew how to escape.

As the time for college approached, our paths began to diverge. I had opportunities—admission letters from prestigious universities—but the choices were not always mine to decide. My mother insisted I remain close, pursue nursing, and opt for stability over ambition. Meanwhile, Denise, nurtured by a family of scholars, embarked on a journey to a university that resonated with potential.

Somewhere within that shift, our bond weakened. Denise—once my sanctuary—became someone unfamiliar. She mocked me, disregarded my journey, and gradually faded away.

Parallel Lives, Separate Worlds

Despite both of us pursuing nursing, our careers unfolded in contrasting ways. She ascended swiftly—ER, CRNA school, and onward to a life of visible successes. I remained local, earned my ADN, and devoted myself to critical care. My journey was slower, less glamorous, but equally significant.

Years later, our paths crossed again in a hospital room—amidst the frenzy of a code blue. Denise was the CRNA intubating my patient. I recognized her immediately. But when I attempted to mend our decades-long divide, she offered a chilly, indifferent nod. That moment should have equipped me for what I’d experience years later at the doctor’s office—but some wounds do not diminish with time.

Not All Friendships Survive Time

As I stood at that check-in counter, I felt 69 and suddenly 13, 18, 21 all at once. The years crumbled around me like a house of cards. I wished to think I could greet her, brush off the past with humor. But my heart resisted. The recollections of her jests, the condescension, and her ultimate rejection stung anew.

Her presence—so polished, so impeccably assembled—only amplified the distance we’d traversed. Yet, we’d both retired from lengthy nursing careers. We’d both raised families. We’d both loved, married, and endured.

But our values had split apart.

I constructed a life rich in meaning, even if not in wealth. I was an engaged mother, a devoted wife, and a dependable nurse. Our home may have been a trailer, but it brimmed with laughter and love. Denise’s world sparkled from the outside, yet her eyes had turned cold—glamorized with the detachment of status over authenticity.

What Persists

People often say time heals all wounds, but I’ve learned that time frequently just teaches us to carry them. When I encountered Denise once more, I bore every memory of our friendship, each betrayal, and the burden of our divergence.

I didn’t meet her gaze; I turned away.

Sometimes, silence signifies closure.

In life’s concluding chapters, what we leave behind isn’t homes, vehicles, or diamonds—it’s the echoes of how we treated others. And the effects of unkindness can endure even beyond the most profound childhood friendships.

A Final Contemplation

“All that is gold does not glitter,” J.R.R. Tolkien wrote. And sometimes, what glitters never was gold.

Denise remains in my memory—not as the girl who lit up my childhood, but as the woman who taught me the value of kindness, humility, and staying connected to what truly counts.

Reunions don’t always bring joy or healing. At times, they merely expose how far we’ve traveled—and how much we’ve matured, even if the other person hasn’t.

And that, in itself, is sufficient.

— Debbie Moore-Black, RN, is a retired nurse who reflects on life, medicine, and humanity at Do Not Resuscitate.